However Unlikely Ch. 16

Chapter Sixteen: Judgment

Zia watched the big man work. His large hands were always gentle with the bodies that came in. He had brought her to live in his one-bedroom apartment above the morgue a little over month ago, calling a friend of his to get her some painkillers. Her ribs had healed in two weeks under his careful supervision, and her leg was now fully healed as well. He had brought in a tutor for her to keep up with her studies while she healed, but as soon as her ribs had healed, he had sent her to a local school.

"Is good for you be with other children, devushka," he had grunted. He rarely actually said her name, usually calling her "devushka" or "malyutka." His shoulders slumped as he worked, spitting out a string of words in his native tongue. Zia couldn't understand what it all meant, but knew better than to repeat it. She had tried that once and gotten a stern look from him in response.

"Another overdose?" she offered, settling her bag on her shoulders. Volkov turned to look at his young charge. She was seeing too much death here, was too familiar with it already. His eyes softened as they traced the scars on her cheek. There had been nothing he could do to prevent them. That woman had marked her, forcing a memory to be held that was better left forgotten.

"Off to school, malyutka," he murmured, pushing her toward the door of the morgue. "Is no good you see."

She huffed, but let him push her out the door. She wasn't as afraid of him as she used to be, but that was no reason to openly cross him. He had called her malyutka that time. It was bad, then. He reserved malyutka for when work was bad. She thought back over the past few weeks. A handful of overdoses and one beating. Not bad enough. Must have been the phone call he had received. It had been on the morgue phone, most likely the Sentinels trying to track someone down. She stopped walking as her mind wandered to Sent'nel. She wondered if he had gone back to Hornbeam and tried to adopt her. Lard would have been ready for him, saying a generous man had taken her and she didn't have his address. Tears pricked Zia's eyes, and she shook her head. One of these days she would go to Sent'nel's post to show him she was okay. She hurried down the street toward school, not wanting to be late.

After the girl left, Volkov shambled away from the table, grabbing a shot glass and vodka from the cupboard. The woman from Hornbeam had called him, telling him she was getting a new caretaker and if anyone else called him to give them all the information he had on the children he had collected before. There had been two of them, both boys. What that beast had done to those boys - Volkov shivered and took a swig of vodka. He knew that whoever Ophelia hired as a new caretaker would be a saint by comparison. He muttered a string of curses in his native language and took another swig of the astringent beverage, feeling it burn as it made its way down. He sighed and started on the paperwork for the body on his table. Zia had been right; it was another overdose.

Bombadeux stared at the evidence against Smythe. There was child abuse, child endangerment, and murder all wrapped up in a neat package, a little too neat for Bombadeux's taste. Cases like this were never this easy. His gut told him Ms. Mauze knew more than she was letting on. He stared at the enlarged files from Volkov. The bland descriptions of the horrific manner in which the youths had died turned his stomach. He wondered how the man dealt with it. A sudden knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. Bombadeux rose and stretched his stiff, aging body. He ambled to the giant-sized door. Elijah was on the other side, shifting from one foot to the other. Bombadeux ushered him in, knowing full well what the young man was after. Elijah nodded as he stepped in the office, eyeing the open case file.

"There's enough for a death sentence," Bombadeux told him, watching the Sentinel's shoulders tense.

"I see," Elijah's voice was harsh, tense. His fists clenched. That woman had told a murderer to take Zia from him. He stared at Smythe's picture, eyes growing hard. His face became a mask of rage, nostrils flaring. This is the man who took her from me, Elijah fumed. This is the man who hurt her. Bombadeux placed a steadying hand on the young titan's shoulder. He could only guess what was going through his mind.

"I plan on passing this on to the Council," Bombadeux said. "They will most assuredly sentence him to death."

Elijah nodded, jaw clenching. He wanted to be the one to punish this man, to make him pay. A small part of him wondered if this made him a monster. He shook his head to dispel this thought. He wasn't the monster here, Smythe was. He looked over his shoulder at Bombadeux, eyes blazing.

"I want to be the one, Bomba," he said, voice hoarse with emotion. "I want to make that man pay."

Bombadeux saw the look in Elijah's eyes. He had been there once, felt this once, and he knew the guilt that came after. The older man sighed; he was really getting too old for this. He wanted to ask the young man if he was sure, if he really wanted to live with that, but held his tongue. The fire in those grey eyes stopped him. He had seen quite a few cases where a Sentinel had requested something like this, but only one other time had he seen someone else's eyes blaze like this. That particular Sentinel had left the force shortly after the execution. He hoped Elijah wouldn't do the same. Patting the young man's shoulder, he gathered all the evidence against Smythe. He steered the young man out of his office and locked the door behind them. Elijah looked him in the eye, fire dying slightly.

"Thank you, Bomba," his voice was softer now. "You're always looking out for me, and I . . . thank you."

Bombadeux nodded, squeezing his shoulder. Elijah followed him in silence as he brought the evidence before the Council. The mix of humans and giants took all of half an hour to review it all. They found him guilty. There was no reason to question him. The evidence of what he had done was all too clear.

"Bring him in," the oldest Council member ordered. "His sentence will be carried out in two days."

Bombadeux and Elijah saluted in unison. Some of the tension left Elijah's shoulders as they left the Council chamber. He slumped against a wall and stared at the ceiling. Bombadeux waited for him to collect himself.

"You can change your mind yet, m'boy," he offered quietly. Elijah's tired eyes wandered to him. Did he really want to fill the Executioner's role for this? He stared at his boots. He had heard stories in the Academy of Sentinels who went rogue after carrying out an execution, and had taken one down in his four years as a Sentinel. Even with these thoughts running through his mind, the ball of rage in his gut screamed at him to end Smythe.

"I - I just don't know, Bomba," he whispered. He was torn. He wanted to be the one to make Smythe pay, and, in the same instant, worried how Zia would take it if, no, when she found out. He remembered the fear in her eyes when she had first seen him. His eyes screwed shut, and he slipped to the floor. Bombadeux squatted in front of him, joints popping and creaking.

"You have time," he said gently. Elijah met his eyes. Bombadeux could see him battling himself.  He could see the hurt from what the man had done and the fear that stemmed from his love of the girl. Sighing through his nose, he knew that Elijah would be the one to execute Smythe. Something clicked within Elijah during their silent staring contest. He knew that he would do it. He would be the one to rid the world of that skeletal bastard. Now, he just had to make sure the girls didn't find out.

"Bomba, I think we should keep this from the children," he said finally, tone level. "All of them."

Bombadeux nodded. There was no reason any child needed to see that monster ever again. He rose, pulling Elijah up as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a giant and human Sentinel go to collect Mr. Smythe from Hornbeam. Two days, he thought. Not nearly short enough.